


Bottled Up

by skarlatha



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Coming Out, Friends to Lovers, Gatorade, Horny Rick, M/M, poor decisions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 19:50:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5598679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skarlatha/pseuds/skarlatha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl is summoned to Rick's cell for a problem that Rick can only trust with his right-hand man. It involves Gatorade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bottled Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MaroonCamaro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaroonCamaro/gifts).



> A little fic for the wonderful [MaroonCamaro](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MaroonCamaro), who is amazing and funny and a damn good friend and writer. It's not quite as awesome as the apple butter and deer jerky she makes, but hopefully it will bring a smile to her face. <3

Daryl is out by the fences working on weeding down the walker build-up there when Maggie walks up beside him and holds out her hand for the harpoon he’d liberated from a fishing store. Daryl hands it over without hesitating but quirks his eyebrow up at her a bit, waiting for an explanation.

“Rick needs you inside,” she says, giving a little jerk of her head back toward the prison. “He’s in his cell. Won’t come out. He said you were the only one he’d talk to about why.”

Daryl frowns and he’s halfway back to the prison before Maggie gets the rest of her sentence out. He breaks into a jog halfway through the prison yard, then into a run when he gets to the courtyard, then a full-on sprint as he crosses the cell block and leaps up the stairs to Rick’s cell.

He pushes back the curtain, chest heaving with both exertion and panic, and Rick is sitting in his bed with a pillow over his lap, looking balefully up at him. “What’s wrong, man? They said you wouldn’t come out of your cell.”

Rick takes a deep breath. “I fucked up.”

A slideshow of terrible images flits through Daryl’s mind as he considers all the various and sundry ways that a man could fuck up in the apocalypse, but before he can work his way up to panic, Rick lifts the pillow, and Daryl’s eyes lock on a very surprising sight.

“I was thirsty and I got a Gatorade from the pantry and came back up here to drink it,” Rick says, embarrassment dripping from his words as he closes his eyes and rubs his temples. “And then I was horny. And then I was just bored. And so I thought… you know.”

Daryl opens his mouth, then shuts it again, his eyes flicking from Rick’s fire-engine-red cheeks down to his lap and back up again. “You thought…”

“You know. I looked at the bottle and I thought… ‘I could fuck that.’” He drops one hand from his temple and gestures at his manhood, currently wedged into the Gatorade bottle and looking rather swollen there. “And now I, um…”

“And now your dick is stuck in a bottle,” Daryl supplies. “Fuckin’ Christ, man.”

Rick lets out a hard breath through his nose. “Just help me get it loose.”

Daryl blinks at him. “...how?”

“Well, _I_ don’t know,” Rick snaps. “I thought you might know some kind of, like, trick or somethin’.”

“A trick. To get your dick out of a bottle.”

“Daryl. I can’t ask anybody else.” Rick looks at him, blue eyes huge and sad. “ _Please_. Just help me.”

“Okay,” Daryl says, because honestly he’d agree to anything Rick asks of him and they both know it. “Okay. Let me go get some… thangs.” He stands up and scampers from the cell, heading for his own roost. He fishes his super-secret bottle from where it’s hidden in the shoebox he keeps his underwear in and then heads for the little changing station where they have Little Asskicker’s items stored, grabbing a bottle of baby powder there as well. He heads back to Rick’s cell and hands him the two bottles. “Mix that up. Baby powder’s the trick. Don’t know why it works but it does.”

Daryl kneels down in front of Rick and carefully pokes a hole in the bottle with his big hunting knife to reduce the suction, then looks up at Rick who’s staring at him with a strange expression on his face. “What?”

“You have lube? Why?”

Daryl rolls his eyes and takes the bottles back from Rick, then starts mixing up the little powder-lube concoction himself. “‘Cause I’m gay as shit, man. You ain’t figured that out yet?”

Rick blinks at him, his mouth hanging open slightly. “You’re… gay.”

“Yeah,” Daryl says, then holds out the mixture. “So now that you know that… you want to rub this on or you want me to?”

Rick keeps staring at him, then winces. “ _Shit_ ,” he hisses. “This was a bad idea.”

Daryl bristles. “Didn’t think you were gonna be an ass about it--”

“No, Daryl, stop talking,” Rick grits out. “Stop talking and just… just go. I’ll do it myself. Get out.”

“Why? ‘Cause I’m gay? You some kind of homophobic--”

“ _No_ ,” Rick says, more whimper than hiss now. “Because you said you were gay and now I’m picturing bending you over a table and I do _not_ need my dick to get _harder_ right now, Daryl. So go away.”

Daryl gets to his feet, blushing a bit at the words, and gestures vaguely at Rick’s cock. “Just, um, rub it in real good and then gently…” He makes a pulling hand motion. “And then later, you know. Come talk to me about that table thing. Might be able to work somethin’ out.”

Rick’s eyes go wide and dark and he licks his lip, then winces again. “Okay, okay. Just go so I can take care of this. And then, yeah. I’ll find you.”

Daryl licks his lips too. “You promise?”

“I promise.”


End file.
